


wear your heart on your skin in this life

by xpatxperience



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, M/M, Minor Allura/Lance (Voltron), Tattooed Keith (Voltron), its just there for the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 16:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16178921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xpatxperience/pseuds/xpatxperience
Summary: Shiro knew what he wanted. He wanted to work this job for the hours, for the good pay, for the fact he didn't have to hurt anybody anymore. He did not take the job for the super hot guy across the parking lot - but why is he the only thing Shiro seems to focus on?





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lala_May](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lala_May/gifts).



    Shiro really didn’t think he would end up working as a florist. Well, florist is really kind of pushing it. Do you call the prepubescent teenager who hands you your two AM Taco Bell shame order a culinary master?

No. No you don’t. 

    First of all, Shiro doesn’t really have the whole aesthetic. He doesn’t look like someone who hands you some plants, that will be as dead as his social life in a couple of days, accompanied by the wishes that whoever is going to snort up the leftover bee jizz will ‘get better’ or ‘fall in love with you’ or ‘have a happy mother’s day’.

    And maybe Shiro is self-conscious enough to realize he is a bit out of the whole ‘romance’ and ‘family’ and ‘feeling connected to other people in a meaningful way’ circuit. However, Shiro would invite anyone who criticizes his current middle finger to the world attitude to have what they thought to be the person they were going to spend their entire life with crush their heart like a nasty ass mosquito, move as far away from them as possible, and then die in a fucking car crash - like some fucking Nicholas Sparks novel. Shiro wasn’t even white enough to qualify as one of the white people almost kissing on the cover, yet here was old Sparky's, shoving his entire fist up Shiro’s metaphorical ass for laughs. 

   Luckily for Shiro, his boss and general life sensei, Coran, decided that out of all the desperate college kids looking for summer jobs that paid more than $7.25, a six foot three wall of Air Force muscle and fresh backing cynicism, looked like the right fit for the job. 

    Now that he has the time to think about it, was there some sort of underground flower mob he needed to know about? Was Shiro just the guy in the muscle tank who looked up over the counter before John Wick pops a few good bullets in him while Bonnie Tyler’s  _ Holding Out for a Hero  _ plays in the background? Was he destined to have all of his  _ Back to the Future  _ trivia blown all over the 20+ year linoleum? Was this really-

     The tiny ring from the bell above the door saves Shiro from the anxiety meltdown of wherever his mind was going with that one. 

     “Hi! Welcome to Botanical Atlas. How can I help you?” Shiro asks quickly trying to brush all of the dead leaves off of the counter and act like a professional. 

     “I’m just here for a pickup.” A man answers like he’s reading off the fucking autobiography of everyone’s least favorite president George W. Bush. 

     Shiro then makes what he regards to be the most important decision of his life and brings his head up to see that he is speaking to none other than the fucking real life Hot Topic model who he has been desperately trying not to eye fuck through the glass windows of both their storefronts. 

     See, here's the thing; Shiro might have got his job due to whatever pity might be in Coran’s heart, but he kept it because- even though his heart might be on life support- it goes into absolute shock at the sight of the desk assistant who works at the tattoo parlor directly across from Shiro. The first time he glanced through that wonderful non-crystalline amorphous solid, his eyes cannot comprehend what is on the other side. 

   Hot Tattoo Man, as Shiro so lovingly calls him in the privatization of his own mind, might not be an artist, but his body is a canvas which holds the most captivating geometric masterpieces, which are all monochrome except for the brilliant red accents. The red stands out against the black ink and the man's pale skin and Shiro can’t stop tracing the lines along the man’s arms and neck from afar.

    Now here he is. Standing in Shiro’s place of work. In front of Shiro. Where Shiro can see in vivid detail all of the stunning art covering it’s way up those pale, and surprising muscular arms. Wow. Those are really nice arms. Holy Shit. Does Hot Tattoo Man work out? Maybe they can be gym buddies. Then Shiro can just take his shirt off and hope his rock solid abs can convince this man he is worthy of his valuable attention. 

    “Do I need to give you the name?” The man asks, taking the few steps it takes to come up to the counter. He stands directly in front of Shiro and Shiro catches the scent of disinfectant and something resembling a scented candle coming off from him. 

    “Yes!” Shiro manages to bark out. It sounds sticky and weird and abhorrent and Shiro wonders how hard it would be to find a way to reverse time just to stop that word from coming out of his mouth like that.

    “Lance McClain.” The stunning example of human mastery says looking down at his phone which continues to ping and demand his attention.

    “Okay, just a quick second.” Shiro starts typing on the keyboard and clicking in random places on the screen; there are three orders for that day and they are already pulled up. However, he believes that maybe if he continues to take in the intricate pattern this man’s hair makes as it falls across his forehead -  maybe if he has enough time, he will work up the courage to ask for this guys number, or his name, a name would be really nice.

    “And are you Lance McClain?” Shiro asks. Completely forgetting that is a possibility. 

    “No. My name’s Keith.” The man with a name now, answers before being drawn back to his phone with a scowl and more pinging. 

   Keith. 

   Keith! Like Keith Urban or like  _ Keith  _ aka that shitty indie film Pidge made him watch. Perhaps, like Keith Richards! Keith like that guy Shiro had stand next to him in basic training with the ginger hair. But most likely, Keith - like the name he could never possibly forget now that he finally posses something of value to him. 

    “Well, Keith. Looks like Lance is one lucky man…” Shiro knows it’s a leading question. But Shiro has had to spend the last couple of months enduring social interactions such as; asking people for their name, asking people to spell their complex names, and worst of all attempting to guess who the fuck the flowers were for. Is it such a crime if he uses it now to find out if this guy is single?

    Shiro would be perfectly fine in simply telling people how much their total was and telling them to drive safe, but Coran thought it to be part of the small business model to make lasting impacts with the customers. 

    Thus every transaction, was almost like a game, but not a fun game like Scrabble or Bioshock Infinite. No, this was some  _ Saw  _ level bullshit as Shiro attempted to decipher the cryptic messages and hints customers would drop about their plans for the flowers as Shiro rang them up - which would eventually lead to Shiro making a guess along the lines of ‘ _ your husband is a lucky man _ ’ or  _ ‘your daughter will be so thankful _ ’ or  _ ‘I hope you have a great day’ _ if it was really close to closing time.

   “Please never say that again.” Keith replies, looking up suddenly and directly into Shiro’s eyes. In any other situation, Shiro would take this moment to appreciate how Keith’s eyes are not actually dark blue but almost a shade of purple. Maybe if the time was right he would say so, but instead what comes out is,

    “What?” 

    “You are giving me nightmares by insinuating I would ever,  _ ever  _ date Lance. Who is the one getting married to a wonderful lady in the next few weeks and the most obnoxious person on the face of the Earth.” Keith says all of this in the same tone that Shiro’s eighth grade teacher used when she had to break the news he was failing Spanish. (He is still awful at Spanish.)

    “I apologize,” Shiro says quickly, realizing that this plan is backfiring on him way faster than he thought it would. “I would never want to cause you that sort of pain.” Great. Now he sounds like a Jane Austen love interest. 

    “I’m sure you wouldn’t. I’m not interested in him though. Not my type.” Keith finishes, his eyes wandering around the room - suddenly unable to make contact.

     Shiro is willing to call it whatever Keith wants as long as he gets some part of that tattoo action. However, as Shiro leaves to collect the flowers with the world’s most awkward thumbs up  _ ever  _ he wonders to himself if there is something more behind that sentence. 

  He couldn’t have been hitting on him. Right? Could he? That would be crazy though -  _ right _ ? As Shiro grabs what flowers he needs, Shiro decides that it's just his mind trying to make up for the years and years of isolation. He hands them over to Keith all wrapped up and does not let his mind linger on the fact that their hands briefly brushed each other across the counter. 

And then Keith left.

And then it was over.

     Shiro would be okay with that gorgeous man never coming back into the store. I mean, he wouldn’t be happy, that’s for sure. He wouldn’t be blessed, or pleased, or whatever other hashtag friendly words, by any means. I mean, he wants to wake up to that face for the rest of his life but he will accept pleasant distance over the soul crushing awkwardness that is sure to fill the room after that conversation. 

     But Shiro doesn’t ever get what he wants. 

Because Keith? Well, Keith  _ keeps coming back. _

     Like mold, or a bad rash, or a pair of Mormon missionaries, he continues to show up over, and over, and over, again. Day after day to pick up flowers for one LaNcE McClAiN who can't seem to be bothered to pick up his own damn flowers. Lance McClain which is a name that is now synonymous with M. Night. Shyamalan after the release of the Avatar: The Last Airbender movie in Shiro’s book. 

     To make matters worse Keith comes over just about  _ whenever _ , probably just to make Shiro’s life hard, or well harder than it already is. This randomness makes it  _ impossible  _ to tell when to arrange the flowers. Sure, he can do it in the morning and then just stick it in the fridge but that’s not  _ the proper way young grasshopper _ .

    So. Shiro is stuck arranging flowers that are supposed to say, “I’m so glad to be marrying you.” while his own huge crush stands four feet away watching. 

    But despite this Lance dude not being dedicated enough to pick up his own damn flowers, he is most gracious enough to pay ahead, so it's not like Shiro can be like, “ _ Oops. Sorry! Flower machine broke! Please, I beg of you, leave now before I vomit!”  _

Nope.

    Shiro has to stand through awkward conversation after awkward conversation with The Hottest Man Ever, who Shiro is sure hates him.

    Either that, or this dude is a masochist and knows Shiro is in pain right now. In fact, he hopes the tattoo business is doing okay because it’s starting to feel like Keith spends more time in Shiro’s lobby making small talk than he doesn’t at his own job. 

    Anyway, after about a week of flower pick up Shiro finally works up the courage to propose a more efficient, and all around more comfortable, alternative to their current set up. 

    “Hey.” Shiro starts, because a non committal greeting is always the best way to start a conversation. “I hate to see you wasting all of this time just standing around, waiting.” 

    “Oh. Yeah.” Keith says as if he’s realizing this for the very first time. “Well, Lance demands what Lance demands.”

    “I was just thinking I can give you my number. Then you can just text me before you are going to come over. I only need about a twenty minute warning.” Shiro says suddenly realizing that it might not be socially kosher to offer up your number to strangers. He’s already formulating an exit strategy but all he can think about is the Afghan War which is  _ not helping Mr. George Bush.  _

    “Uh.” Keith suddenly stops short with his response. “You are going to give me your number?” He asks slowly. Like Shiro was a first year Japanese speaker trying to order some Bibimbap. 

    “Yes?” Shiro wonders what the unemployment rate is right now and how bad it would be for him to find other work if he suddenly just quit his job. Not that he’s a quitter. But you know, some things are stronger than capitalism - and his gay panic is one of them.

     “Okay.” Keith says, sticking to being a man of few words. “Your phone number sounds fine.”

     “Great!” Shiro coughs out pulling some paper from the receipt machine and scribbling down his digits. “And I’ll make sure to text you back. Just to confirm and everything. I’m not going to leave you stranded.” And there he goes sounding like some sort of off brand Mr. Darcy again. If he were straight this whole romance thing would probably be a lot easier. 

    “You’re going to text me.” Keith repeats back as he picks up the paper from the counter and stares at it for what is truly, a worrying amount of time. 

    “Ah, that’s the plan. If it’s okay with you. You run your own life and everything. You don't’ have to use it. My number that is. Now you just have it.” Shiro is an accomplished man. Shiro can run a mile in under six minutes.  _ Shiro needs to pull it together.  _

    “Well!” Keith’s entire demeanor suddenly shifts from  _ I’m reminiscing about The War  _ to  _ I just got elected class president.  _ “I’ve already got it! Not gonna waste it.” And promptly shoves the paper into his back pocket and grabs the flowers, leaving with a quick four fingered wave.

   As the door closes behind him Shiro can’t help but think, 

_ Great. He hates me more now.  _

  He keeps thinking that until he gets a message the next day at around two o'clock which reads 

“ _ Coming by in 25. :) _ ”

With a smiley face. A typed out smiley face at that. Not an emoji, Shiro is talking 2002 throwback to AOL dial-up chat room smiley face.

    And its that colon and close parenthesis that sends a little bit of doubt flowing into his mind that maybe, just maybe, Keith doesn't hate him that much. 


	2. The Misunderstanding

    As the middle of week two of what Shiro likes to call “ _ Operation Seduce a God _ ” rolls around that Shiro realizes that he had been a fool. Nothing but a goddamn fool. Or maybe just an idiot who is too stuck in his own brain to figure out the world around him.

Nah. Probably the first one.

    It starts with a day just like any other. In that it consists of him rolling out of bed at five in the morning in order to finish his run before all of the neighborhood moms got up to walk. There is nothing middle age women like more than attempting to snag an attractive military man for their daughters. Sometimes, Shiro just runs faster to avoid them, hence the five minute mile. 

    He’s in the shop by seven, which is unusually early for him, but Hunk was out sick and they totally needed someone to cover the morning flower rush! Also known as standing in the back and cutting roses exactly eleven inches long. Coran usually shows up around nine so Shiro doesn’t know if he gets to make a bouquet for one Mr. McClain, but he’s already organizing a colour scheme in his head just in case. It’s always good to be prepared.

    It’s during this safe haven time when Shiro hears a noise from the front of the store. He quickly drops his scissors and stalks out hoping to give that, “ _ I have one arm and you will too if you try and mess with me”  _ look. However, instead of some couple who might have gotten drunk hitched last night he sees a couple of heavily tatted dudes standing around looking like they got lost in a Sephora. 

    Shiro is about to open his mouth and welcome his brethren in working in this shitty strip mall when he hears them say something rather… unusual. He’s not eavesdropping. That would be unprofessional and against the rules. All he is doing is just letting someone finish their conversation, which is something polite people do.

    “James. Shut up. He might be here.” And okay, maybe that means he is eavesdropping but who the hell opens with that? It’s spoken by a young man who looks way too tired for his age.

    “Calm down, Matt. Keith says he only ever sees him around after three on weekdays and two on weekends. And you have to trust Keith. He’s the expert.” This James guys replies. Shiro knows of them only in passing as he doesn’t really have the emotional capacity to invest in more than one human at a time, and right now, Keith is kind of a hand full. “Like, how does he even know that?”

    “The front desk faces out.” Matt replies with a sigh. “He probably just has eyes.”

    “Yeah. Eyes that never leave this place. Probably trying to see how much skin he can get under, and not with a tat gun.” The man shoves his elbow into Matt trying to get a laugh out of him. 

   “Seriously. Shut up guys.” Shiro does a quick double take as he realizes that the third member of their gang is actually what appears to be a twenty-something year old woman and not a teenage boy. Wow. That must be awkward for her. “Why are we even doing this?” James picks up the question, 

    “Because if our boy is pining as hard as he is, then Mr. Adonis God of Flowers-”

    “That’d just be Persephone.” Matt interrupts.

    “Ask me if I give a shit,” James clips back. “Anyway, if we are suffocating under the tension then these guys must be as well. So, I’m thinking we team up.” 

     There is a few moments of silence and then with the energy of whatever you call the opposite of a WWE entrance, Shiro steps out from the back with his best neutral expression plastered on his face. He probably looks like TSA officer but he’d take that over a confused gay man who just wants to nap and not think about this situation.

     “Hi. How can I help you?” Great opener. Really strong and direct. They don’t have a clue there is a small electrical fire going on inside his head right now. 

    Good thing they all look like their computer crashed at 11:59 pm and the Blackboard link is about to close on them. The woman pulls herself together first,

     “We are here to pick up some flowers. Any kind will do. Literally just give one bouquet of flowers. Please. Thank you.” She says seeming to cover all areas of a conversation as insurance. Shiro just spins around and grabs the first one that he sees and thrusts it out to her, third grader with a crush style.

     “Here. This one is great. Really popular with all types of people. Some great flowers. Last long. They smell good too!” Shiro has completely forgotten how a normal human functions. All of his processing power is going to the fact that the supermodel of a being that has been standing six feet away from him for weeks might like him. 

     “Thanks!” She replies and throws out a twenty. “Just keep the change.” Then they all spin around and rush for the door. As they push the door open, James whispers in a voice that is not quiet enough to not travel the fifteen feet to Shiro’s ears, 

     “Maybe we can tell Keith it’s from him.” 

     “He can fucking hear you.” The woman hisses smacking him on the head.

It’s too early for this. 


	3. The Makeout

    Shiro is great at making decisions. He’s a Major in the Air Force for crying out loud! He can make hard choices! However, the choice that lays before him instills nothing but the carnate desire to lay in his bed and listen to Mr. Brightside for four and a half hours. 

    But today he decided to put his big boy pants on, aka one of the several pairs of black jeans he owns, and is finally going to do something about The Situation™ 

    The Situation™ being the very real chance that a certain mullet rocking tattoo god maybe likes the disaster that is Takashi Shirogane. 

     Shiro still doesn’t believe it himself. He’s still waiting to wake up in the hospital after being in a coma for months from that time he hit his head really hard during training. It seems exactly the sort of thing his subconscious would do to make him have an unattainable crush in his own damn coma dream. 

    So Shiro does what every sexually and romantically repressed twenty something year old would do. By giving them flowers under the guise that the flowers were part of the regular pick up. That’s right folks, Shiro’s not like other guys. Shiro tries to win the affections of his crush with flowers and longing glances. 

    You know, like a Jane Austen protagonist. He really was born in the wrong century. 

    Shiro spends three days. Three damn days. Scouring the internet for the symbolic meaning of flowers, which he really should know by now, in order to craft the exact assembly that will say, ‘ _ hi i might like you a lot and you have the power to crush my existence with a single word”.  _

   In the end there were red chrysanthemum, peonies, white violets, and rosemary. The whole thing took two hours to arrange. And then sending a text to Keith trying to sound nonchalant took eight hours. In the end it went a little something like this, 

_ Your flowers are ready for pick up. _

Shakespearean genius, if you ask Shiro. Just as a backup plan, or whatever, Shiro might have scrawled a note asking if Keith wanted to go out, how amazing his tattoos were, and the fact Shiro thought he was strikingly beautiful, or something like that. 

      In the moments leading up to, The Moment, Shiro kept telling himself that he was  _ fine.  _ That everything was going to be  _ fine.  _ Keith would come in, pick up the flowers, read the note nonchalantly as Shiro rang him up - because he’s a nosy fucker like that - then he would accept the date and Shiro would smile until his face fell off OR he would get rejected and maybe become an astronaut in order to get as far away from this situation as possible. 

    Then, The Moment occurs. The bell above the door rings. Keith enters looking at his phone. Shrio gives him the flowers. Keith mumbles something and hands over his card. Shiro rings him up. Shiro swipes the card really slowly trying to buy time. Keith keeps looking at his phone. Shiro stands there awkwardly at the end of the transaction because there is nothing left for him to do. Keith takes the card in one hand, flowers in another.

And. Just. Fucking. Leaves.

     What the fuck?

     “What the fuck?” Shiro mumbles to the now empty store.

     Shiro spends his lunch break googling astronaut requirements. He’ll need to finish grad school first. As the sun sets deeper and deeper into the horizon the more and more tabs get opened on Shiro’s phone convincing him that 32,000 cubic feet really is no different than living as a millennial in San Francisco. 

     While his phone downloads the new astronaut class recruitment form, Shiro hits the lights and heads out into the night. The crisp wind blowing up from the bay wraps around him as he struggles to lock the door properly. Nobody can seem to make a proper key in this day an age. 

     “STOP!’ The word is screamed from across the parking lot with the desperation of someone attempting to catch the bus on the last ride out in order to reconcile with their ex-wife. Shiro turns around gripping the keys in his hand wondering what type of person tries to rob a florist. 

   But when he turns around he does not see someone with a gun, instilling in Shiro that humanity is doomed, but someone in a red hoodie sprinting towards him through the dark. 

And there was only one person stupid enough to be out this late, in this weather, wearing only a hoodie.

   “Keith?” Shiro called out. More to himself to ensure that what he was seeing was actually happening. 

     “Shiro. Oh, Jesus.” Keith comes to a stop directly in front of Shiro, invading that membrane of space which Shiro prefers crushes who have rejected him accidentally to  _ stay the fuck out of. _ “I thought you left.”

     “I was just on my way out.” Shiro informed him, holding up the keys. Then, in a killer moment of silence -- both of them just stand there, too close to each other for just two dudes who interact over flowers, in the empty parking lot of a strip mall. Keith is just staring up at him with this really unnerving look, which okay, Shiro has had enough of. “Do you need something?” He coughs out breaking eye contact, because holy shit the pavement,  _ super interesting,  _

   “I want to go out with you.” Keith spits out at record speed. Usain Bolt got nothing on how fast those words come out of his mouth. Shiro blinks for a couple of seconds then coughs out,

    “What?” Because holy shit, he has never gotten that fast of a curve ball in his life.

    “I didn’t mean to reject you.” Keith is wringing his hands together, kneading them in such a nervous fashion Shiro has the sudden urge to reach out and take them in his own. “I want to go out with you too.” Keith says this last part with such a lack of conviction Shiro is wondering how anybody this powerful could be so fragile. 

     “Wait. Really?” Shiro is not about beating dead horses or looking gift ones in the mouth, but he’s not quite sure Keith is making the right choice here. 

     “Yes! Of course.” Keith exclaims. “I’ve been hitting on you!” He looks like he’s one more question short of ripping out all of his gorgeous amazing hair.

     “You were flirting with me?” And here Shiro thought that this dude  _ hated  _ him. Maybe his therapist was onto something with that whole ‘projecting his own self loathing thing’ or whatever. 

     “I have been for the past couple of weeks. Thanks for noticing!” Keith laughs and Shiro can’t help the blush that he knows is spreading incognito across his face. Keith’s laugh makes him feel like he could keep a smile on his face forever.

     “Well, I thought you weren’t into guys!” Shiro counters, because really, this whole situation could not get much weirder. 

     “What would you think that!” Keith screamed grabbing Shiro by his shoulders and shaking him like the fool he is. “I almost cried when you told me my tattoos were works of art.” Shiro remembered that he wanted to finish that with,  _ works of art that are just as beautiful as you.  _ Instead of telling the man he’s probably dating now this, instead, he keeps this going by admitting,

     “You told me the first day, and I quote; You were not interested in those like your friend!” 

Keith runs a hand through his hair as a look of absolute madness crosses his face/

     “NO!” He shouts. “That wasn’t that I wouldn’t date men. It’s that I wouldn’t date obnoxious thin dipshits like LANCE because I am interested in your super ripped ass.” 

      And this kind of sends Shiro through a loop. Just for his own recap, the guy he likes likes him back, has for a while actually. This isn’t a dream, or a prank, or a coma. So, for once in his life things are actually working out for him and he’s not sure how he is supposed to progress from here. Does he kiss him? Does he run away as fast as he can before he messes this up? 

    “So, for review. You like guys, particularly me, and you want to go out with me?”

    “Yes,” Keith answers, smiling up to him in a way that  _ does things  _ to Shrio. Like he is and idiot. But he’s  _ Keith’s  _ idiot.

    “Okay,” Keith reasons the best plan of action is just to ask. “So, does that mean I can kiss you now?” 

    “Oh God, yes.” Except that it’s said as Keith brings his hands up to hold Shiro’s cheeks so it comes out as a ‘ohgodyes.’ And then Shiro’s lips are on Keith’s. He takes a breath of surprise and can smell the antiseptic that still hasn’t managed to be washed off. It’s the smell of hospitals, and of his mom, and of his first kiss with the man he wants to marry.

      He’s worried that his prosthetic will be too heavy, or too cold, or too weird - but as he settles it on the small of Keith’s back all that happens is that Keith bites down on Shiro’s bottom lip in a way that makes Shiro pull him closer. 

     Keith pulls on the shorts of Shiro’s hair which makes him gasp for air and in the intermission, a look of confusion crosses Keith’s face and he asks,

     “Wait. If you didn’t know I was flirting with you, then how did you figure out I liked you?” Shiro looks down and starts tracing small circles on Keith's back hoping that the gesture buys him some time to think about throwing Keith’s coworkers under the bus. He’s almost decided just lying to save their asses but as soon as he looks into those eyes he thinks two things. 1) Fuck it, and 2)  _ I’m WHIPPED. _

     “Some of your coworkers came in and I overheard them talking about it.” Shiro confesses setting is forehead down against Keith’s. 

     “Jesus Christ.” Keith mumbles, clearly pissed off but also clearly drunk on Shiro’s proximity.

     “They said you wanted to get under my skin and ‘not with a tattoo gun.’” Shiro admits because he needs to do something with his mouth if he can not put it on Keith’s and kiss him until he just straight up dies. 

     “I’m going to kill them slowly and painfully.” Keith says with a smirk that insinuates he already had their demise planned and was just waiting for a reason. Shiro chooses to ignore that terrifying idea for the fact that Keith is running his hands up and down Shiro’s arms. Both of them in fact, like he can’t even tell his actual arm in somewhere in the desert 5,435 miles away right now. 

     “I will help as long as you do it later.” Shiro promises, closing the distance and kissing Keith for the second time. And a third. And a fourth. The fifth time Keith lets out a gasp as Shiro pulls his hair. The sixth has Shiro’s tongue running along Keith’s bottom lip. The seventh they both break away for air, panting and Shiro thinks he has Keith’s spit running from his mouth. 

     “Do you want to take this somewhere that is not the shared parking lot of both our places of work?” Shiro asks.

     “Yes, I do.”  Keith responds grabbing Shiro’s hand. “Lead the way.” Shiro has to stop himself from sprinting at rocket launch speed to his car and in the moment his rational brain manages to pop its head from the sea of hormones he wonders,

    “Hold on. If you didn’t come over until right now. How did you eventually find the note I left you?” 

Keith takes a moment to answer, pursing his lips like he doesn’t really want to say it,

     “That’s quite a story actually.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact from flowermeaning.com   
> When Paeon used a peony root to heal Pluto, Aesculapius became jealous of his talents and tried to kill him. To save Paeon (and show compassion to him), Pluto transformed him into a peony, because he knew it was a flower that people would admire and praise. Thus, one peony meaning is compassion.

**Author's Note:**

> I still havent seen voltron  
> I am so sorry yall were fucking teen wolfed with your lgbt characters -- you deserve so much better honey  
> Here is something that walks the fine line between crack fanfiction and quality content.  
> I’d like to reiterate, i still havent seen voltron


End file.
